


Rum Punch

by Archangel67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel67/pseuds/Archangel67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean decides that while Sam tries to work things out with Amelia, he and Cas should take a vacation of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rum Punch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [standbyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbyme/gifts).



> I wrote this for the lovely Hannah, because she made a compelling argument for it.

It would have taken them thirty hours to drive from Sioux Falls to Key West, but it took about thirty seconds for Cas to mojo them there. There had been no real reason to ever go back to South Dakota, but Sam had decided to try to make it work with Amelia which left the two of them with more time on their hands than they really knew what to do with. After spending a few days with Jody, catching up and making sure that she was still sane and secure, Dean was becoming restless. Cas had suggested looking for local hunts –he was a hunter now, he reminded Dean several times over – but the human had stubbornly refused.

They needed time off. The vamps and the wendigos and the demons would still be right where they left them. A week off wouldn’t hurt anybody. Except for people who were potentially being hurt. Dean was tired of putting everyone else first, though. One week. That was it.

When he had told Cas to ‘pick a place, any place’ he had expected the angel to haul him off to somewhere weird. Jerusalem or Stonehenge or something like that. Instead as the hand fell away from his forehead, he found himself blinking into the sun. There was a warm breeze that carried the fresh, salt scent of clean ocean water. Belatedly, Dean realized that he was ankle deep in sand.

“Hawaii?” he croaked, trying to wrap his head around that one. Cas didn’t strike him as an all-inclusive-resort sort of guy. Then again, what did he know? Maybe the celestial soldier just liked piña coladas. And getting caught in the rain. Great, now he was going to have that horrible song stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

“Florida,” Castiel corrected as he squinted toward the water. He looked utterly ridiculous standing on the beach in a full suit and trench coat. Then again, Dean imagined that he didn’t look any less displaced. It had to be at least eighty degrees. He was already sweating beneath his layers of flannel.

            “Okay, I’ll bite. Why?” Dean asked as he shrugged off his leather jacket, followed by a blue flannel, which was in turn followed by a black button down. The plain white t-shirt he wore beneath all of that was already clinging to his chest. This was why he really hated traveling too far south. Everything just got so damn… sticky.

            “You recommended that I take up reading more often in my spare time,” the angel stated with a sort of barely visible smug satisfaction as he started trudging through the sand toward the trees. It looked like there was a path there. Hopefully one that would take them somewhere that wouldn’t have Dean’s boots sinking three inches down every time he shifted his weight. “I read Hemingway.”

            “Oh. Which book? Old Man and the Sea? A Farewell to Arms?”

            Castiel paused and looked back, incredulous. “I read _Hemingway_.”

            “…Like all of it?”

            The angel just gave him a look.

            “Okay, okay. You’re a quick reader. Jeeze. So you read Hemingway and decided that we should… Wait. You zapped us to Florida for Heminway. You zapped up to Key West? Dude.”

            “You disapprove. Is there something I’m unaware of?” Now Cas just sounded mildly frustrated. No matter what he did, he always seemed to be forgetting something. Missing something. If they were going to spend a week doing nothing, he wanted the nothing to be interesting. He enjoyed experiencing history first hand, Dean enjoyed drinking. It should have been a win-win. But the hunter looked bemused.

            “No. It’s nothing,” Dean grumbled. “Come on. Can we at least find some pavement?”

            It was a short walk to get off of the beach and it was all Dean could do to ignore the strange looks that the people they passed gave them as they walked by. Tourists in t-shirts that stated ‘Key West’ or ‘Mile 0’ in big letters as if everyone else wasn’t already aware that they were, in fact, in the place. It was like the vacation equivalent of wearing a college sweatshirt while at college. Dean had seen a few of those fashion victims when he had gone to visit Sam at Stanford. He just considered it tacky. Then again, a sweatshirt that just said ‘College’ on it could be worn anywhere and at any time, since you’d be channeling Belushi.

            Because Belushi was the man. Aside from that whole drug over dose thing. That reminded him that there were still a ton of movies he needed to get Cas to watch. Blues Brothers. Full Metal Jacket. The Matrix. And all of the comic book movies except for the Wolverine movie, because it sucked.

            Dean was aware of Key West. As in he knew that it existed and that it was a favored vacation spot for middle aged gay men. What he wasn’t aware of was how damn long the main stretch of the town was. Cas could have popped them somewhere convenient, like right outside of a bar or a motel, but no. He’d dropped them all the way down in the middle of what turned out to be Fort Zachary Taylor State Park. It was several very long blocks before they saw anything save for the brightly colored bungalow homes of the local residents.

            “So where… are we going… exactly?” Dean panted. It wasn’t that he was tired. He simply wasn’t used to the heat. A few blocks could feel like a few miles when the air was so thick that you could chew it.

            “His house is just a few more blocks,” Cas said, sounding perhaps more excited than he had ever heard the angel sound in his whole damn life. Or at least in the several long years that he had known him.

            “Hemingway’s house,” Dean sighed. “Right. That.”

            As promised, the quaint white house with its lemon yellow shutters appeared only a few blocks later. The heat had become less overbearing due to the sheer amount of waxy leaved trees that grew on either side of the street, thick roots so massive that they cracked and crumbled the old cement with no regard for pedestrians. The walled off properly looked like an oasis compared to the otherwise empty, hot street. There weren’t many people wandering around, but once they were in it took Cas all of about five minutes to lose interest in the history and become fixated on the home’s current inhabitants.

            “…Does that cat have six toes?” Dean asked, wrinkling his nose.

            Castiel had perched on a wooden bench next to a dozing white cat whose paws were stretched out in front of its face. He was looking keenly at the animal, which seemed to be pointedly ignoring him until it finally opened one green eye warily.

            “It’s polydactyl,” the angel explained. “From the Greek. It means many fingered.”

            “Yes. I can see that,” Dean said, deadpan.

            “These cats have lived on this property since Hemingway brought the first one here. He was given the cat, who was called Snowball, as a gift by the captain of a ship, since they are considered good luck. Hemingway was fond of cats, so their number grew as he lived here. There are approximately fifty living here now.”

            “That’s a shit ton of cats,” Dean said, not sure whether he should be impressed or call Hoarders. He crossed his arms as he watched the angel stroke gently behind the white feline’s ears, the cat’s eye slowly sinking shut as the entire white lump erupted in a loud rumbling purr.

            “They’re simply pleased to be able to continue living in the territory of their ancestors,” Cas said with a sort of quiet reverence. “They’re the guardians of this place. They’ve passed down their history from generation to generation.”

            Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again. Alright. He wasn’t going to argue whether cats had history with Cas, because the angel was way too invested in the fur balls. Besides, with his luck Cas probably spoke cat. He spoke a bunch of dead language _and_ Enochian, so he wouldn’t have been surprised.

            Castiel proceeded to act as their tour guide, spouting off little known facts about the home and Hemingway himself as they wandered the grounds and inside of the house. While the property was beautiful, Dean couldn’t imagine living there. The place had fans but no air conditioning, which was an absolute must in a place that got this hot in the summer. In his opinion the coolest part of the house was Hemingway’s writing room complete with antelope heads. Although that wasn’t to be outdone by the vase-like urinal that sat in the garden. Apparently he’d taken it from his favorite local bar as a sort of weird interior design revenge on one of his wives after she’d put in a pool without his prior knowledge.

            Hey, apparently history _could_ be interesting.

            After stopping at least ten more times for Castiel to personally greet every cat they came across, Dean managed to convince him that if they didn’t get a drink soon he was going to keel over. He almost felt like he needed to make sure that the angel wasn’t smuggling any kittens out in his coat pockets.

            As they walked up Duval Street, discussing what the hell they were going to do with an entire week here, they happened to pass by a pleasant looking house with several only mostly clothed women sitting on the front porch. One of was reading a magazine, the other talking on her cell phone, but the third smiled when she caught Dean glancing her way.

            “You and your boy looking for a good time?” she asked, raising her eye brows.

            Castiel paused, looking to Dean and then to the girl. “We are searching for some manner of entertainment, yes. What do you recommend?”

            “No, Cas.” Dean took the man in the trench coat by the arm, quickly dragging him onward as he looked back toward the girl. “He’s kidding. We’re good. But thanks. Maybe another time.” He could feel the color rising in his face. Kind of ironic that he could go to a strip club or a cat house all on his lonesome and be completely unfazed, but having Cas involved always managed to make it awkward. Damn angels and their ability to be innocent despite being a bajillion years old. No, not _angels_ even. Just Cas.

            Dean had been under the impression that they were going to the infamous Sloppy Joes, but Castiel had instead lead them to a rundown looking shack that stated it was Captain Tony’s Saloon. He wasn’t sure which was more confusing. The innumerable license plates tacked to the ceiling or the bras hanging from the rafters. The hunter stared up at a delicate pink satin and lace number that was only a foot or so over his head.

            “…Cas, what the hell sort of place did you bring me to?”

            “This is where Hemingway’s bar originally stood. It was moved some years back, but technically this is where he came. Not the establishment further down the street. I, uh…” Castiel actually paused, peering up at the bras as well, furrowing his brow. “I’m afraid I cannot explain the undergarments.”

            “What can I get you fellas?” The bartender asked before they were even three feet in the door. Not that there was all that much room anyway. The small square bar with its rickety stools stood toward the center of the room. At this point Dean knew that he had certainly been in worse, though. Despite the old lingerie and cobwebs and stains on the floor, the place was kind of charming.

            Before he got a chance to answer, too busy trying to pile his extra discarded clothing onto the stool to his right while Cas sat to his left, the bartender laughed. He was short with dark hair and dark eyes, tan from too many hours in the sun. He looked young, aside from the smile lines around his eyes. He couldn’t have been any older than Dean. “I’m gonna assume you boys have never been here before. You’re a little over dressed for the occasion.”

            “First time, yeah,” Dean said with a slightly self-conscious frown.

            “Well, there’s a first time for everything. Never too late to enjoy life.”

            “That is an extremely cavalier philosophy,” Cas said as he continued to look up at the license plates overhead. “Admirable, perhaps, but only if you disregard responsibility…”

            Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. “My friend takes things a little too seriously.”

            “Obviously,” the bartender smirked, giving Cas a once over before turning his attention fully back to Dean. “You here for food, or just drinking?”

            The hunter glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even noon. “Not too early for beer?”

            “Beer? No no no. If this is your first time in the Keys I can get you something better than beer. Besides, just a head’s up, even domestics are expensive around here. All that shit has to be shipped in. Always go for the rum punch. We make the stuff local. Amazing, really.”

            “Ah? Okay. That, then. And whatever you’d recommend, food-wise. I’m starving.”

            “Funny,” the other man smiled. “Usually that heat makes folks less hungry.”

            “Dean is a human garbage compactor,” Cas stated distractedly.

            “Thanks, Cas. Appreciate it.”

            “I’m Marco by the way,” the bartender noted as he went to work, setting up two glasses. “And I’m more than happy to give you the run down, if you want to know all the cool non-touristy places to go while you’re here.”

            The drinks, both equally deep pink were set down in front of the two of them. Dean looked at his glass for a moment and was just reaching for it when Marco made a sound and swatted his hand away. Raising his eye brows at the bartender, Dean tried not to look too startled as a frilly pink cocktail umbrella which was already skewered through a maraschino cherry and a pineapple wedge was plunked into his glass. Cas got the same thing, save for his was a little blue plastic sword instead of an umbrella.

            “There. Now you can drink it.”

            “Hey. How come he gets the sword?” Dean asked even as he swallowed down a good third of the drink, letting out a sigh of relief. Anything cold would have been good, but the alcohol didn’t hurt. Even if it was a super fruity drink. It was a damn good super fruity drink.

            Cas was looking at the decoration, inspecting it before pulling the pineapple off with delicate fingers and popping it into his mouth. Marco was watching him with the same sort of amusement that a child might exhibit while watching a puppy.

            “The button up type don’t usually appreciate the umbrellas,” he said. “I don’t really think that plastic swords are any more or less manly than umbrellas, but it’s just something I’ve noticed over the years.”

            “Weapons aren’t inherently masculine,” Cas said as he focused on prying the cherry from the sword, ending up pulling it off between his teeth. Dean blinked. “There have been plenty of very skilled female warriors…”

            “Oh!” Marco smiled a little more broadly. “Are you a historian?”

            “Something like that,” Dean stated, clearing his throat. “So Marco. This is your town. What would you recommend? We still need to get a place to stay. But after that we’ve got the whole week.”

            “Rooms can be pricy. But I know a guy who’s looking to rent. I could probably get you in for relatively cheap. He lives here year round but, you know, family business.” Marco shrugged. “And as for what to do, it really depends on what interests you. The two of you could spend the entire week on the beach if that’s what you wanted. I’d suggest better attire, first. No offense.”

            “None taken,” Dean laughed under his breath.

            “Personally I think the architecture around Old Town is beautiful. You could just wander around, check that out. Hit up the bars. It’s not like we don’t have enough. There’s a shipwreck museum. Or if you’re really into history, the cemetery is interesting.”

            “I think we’ll avoid the cemetery for the time being,” Dean stated. “Trying not to mix work and pleasure, you know?”

            “You work in a cemetery?” Marco asked, clearly confused.

            “I, uh… I do preservation. Historical. We are historians who preserve historic grave sites. For history. That sort of thing. No big deal.” Dean tripped over his words, waving a hand dismissively. “You can really only look at tomb stones for so many hours a day before you start to go a little nuts. Hence the vacation.”

            “Oh. So you’re colleagues. I just assumed that you were together.”

            “We _are_ together,” Cas said as he sipped his drink thoughtfully.

            Dean coughed into his glass, his face going a particular shade of red.

            “Heh. Never mind. Don’t sweat it,” Marco said quickly. “I get it. Not everyone is comfortable being as open as most of us are down here. I mean, hey. My friends would probably think it was hysterical if they heard that my parents back in Miami still don’t know. They think I moved down here to be with some Cuban girl.”

            “Secrets are sometime necessary,” Castiel agreed almost solemnly. Oh great, now Cas was going to have a heart to heart with their bartender?

            “Not secrets,” Marco said uncertainly. “Just… exclusions. No point in acting like you’re something you aren’t. Doing that won’t bring you anything but misery in the long run. So yeah. It was either stay in Miami and work construction with my uncles or come down here. I’m happier for it. It’s a decision I’d never take back.”

            “I am glad that you have found your calling,” the angel said with a faint smile.

            “Well thank you,” Marco said fondly. “Just for that, I’ll give you guys fair warning. Don’t go to the Garden of Eden unless you’re ready to ditch your clothes. It’s a nice place, but not for the faint of heart.”

            “God actually didn’t mind the clothing,” Castiel said, as if clearing something up. “It was the lying that he couldn’t abide.”

            The bartender looked at the angel for a long moment before he laughed, pressing his palms into his eyes and sighing. “Oh, wow. You’re a funny guy, Cas. And you’re a lucky man, Dean. Better keep a good grip on this one or someone else is going to come and sweep him away. Hang tight, I’ll go get your food.”

            Dean smiled a little despite himself as he watched the angel swirling his drink with the tiny plastic sword. Maybe he needed to reconsider how he had been keeping Cas at arm’s length. After what had happened that night before they summoned Raphael… he had pulled back. Dean had spent too much time having it forced into his head that _real_ men didn’t develop those sorts of feelings. Not for other dudes. But he was getting older. He was getting run down. As much as he wanted to be able to spend every day on the road until he inevitably died of a heart attack brought on by too many greasy diner burgers and fighting for his life in short but violent bursts, he would have been lying if he had tried to convince himself that he didn’t want something more than that.

Maybe not a family in the conventional sense. But would it have really been so bad to just settle down somewhere? Garth had taken up Bobby’s old job, but there were never enough guys doing that sort of thing. There was a whole community of hunters who needed help and he’d been doing this shit since he was a child. Literally. Sammy was getting what he wanted. Didn’t he deserve a break too?

Castiel must have felt Dean’s eyes on him, because the angel glanced up.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, genuine concern in his expression.

Dean smiled, putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezing. “Nah. I’m good.”


End file.
